


Metanoia

by SnarkyReaper



Category: One Piece
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Couple Coping With Shared Trauma, Dehumanization, Depression, Established Relationship, F/M, Gild Tesoro And Stella Deserve So Much More, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Mental Health Issues, One Piece Film: Gold, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Redemption, Reunited Couple, Self-Harm, Trauma, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Yo The Celestial Dragons Can Jump In Front Of A Bus, i wish they were canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:06:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25217485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnarkyReaper/pseuds/SnarkyReaper
Summary: Gild Tesoro has all of this money, fame, and power, but it still feels wrong. Every so often that little voice in his head asks the question:Is this right?
Relationships: Gild Tesoro/Stella
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	1. Here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This came from my severe need for Tesoro/Stella content, as well as from wanting to study Tesoro’s character a bit.
> 
> The scene in “Gold”, where Tesoro sees himself in Luffy while Luffy is yelling for him to let go of Nami, REALLY hinted to me that Tesoro was always teetering between the lines of good and evil. He wasn’t totally gone past the point of redemption. There was always the faint voice in his head that caused him to question if what he was doing was the right thing.
> 
> So this is (kind of??) a redemption arc, as well as portraying Tesoro & Stella coping with their similar traumas together, because in this house we love to see people try to grow & better one another. 😔
> 
> There will be trigger warnings for later chapters, because this fic deals heavily with PTSD/trauma, abuse, talks & mentions/depictions of suicide/suicidal tendencies, and self-harm. Discretion is advised.

_**Metanoia -** A transformative change of heart; especially: a spiritual conversion. The term suggests repudiation, change of mind, repentance, and atonement._

* * *

  
He was always debating on whether or not what he did was right, but he never let anyone know that. Control was the name of the game, and he had to win consistently, if not, it drove him off the deep end. 

Gild Tesoro has all of this money, fame, and power, but it still feels wrong. Every so often that little voice in his head asks the question:

_Is this right?_

And he shoos it away like a fly, telling himself that it _has_ to be right. It has to. 

He is never sure of himself though, and that uncertainty is a lack of control; which is unacceptable.

When away from the public, he’s a headcase; very difficult to read and unwilling to open up. Life becomes a monotony, and the smiles he wears are all fake. Tesoro is just a shell; a dead man walking. Yes the fame and all that is nice, but he’s so numb to it all that he might as well be asleep. Crowds cheering for him, women fawning for his company, business partners desperately looking for a quick piece of his fortune. He just didn’t care. Scratch that, _couldn’t_ care. Bits of his life are missing and not a day goes by where he yearns to feel a genuine feeling. Tesoro, from survival instinct, dug a deep hole within himself, shoved any kind of genuine feelings he had into the hole, and buried it without second guessing himself. That pretty face of his almost always wore a permanent look of indifference; low lidded piercing blue eyes, his prominent natural eyelashes bestowing upon him an air of femininity and beauty. He got them from his mother. Gild Tesoro has it all, but can’t enjoy any of it. 

The monotony of the night is no different as he sat at his desk, mindlessly reviewing numbers and sales. Just a bunch of paperwork. Another thing he did not care about but knew damn well in the back of his head that he needs to care about it. Gran Tesoro, regardless of its autonomous status from the World Government, still has to follow certain rules and regulations. He also doesn’t want some government weasels snooping around and looking for a reason to piss him off.

It just doesn’t matter, nothing matters. One thing he gets out of it that’s actually worthwhile is the cash. That’s the singular target that his eyes are set on. He needs it, he hoards it like a dragon slumbering in a deep cave, protecting its riches.   
_All of it_ , he needs all of it. If he doesn’t have money then he can’t survive.  
To Tesoro, the survival instinct is still in effect, but it’s out of fear. Everything he does is out of fear: controlling, swindling, illegal businesses, bribery, and the burial of his emotions. All fear-based.

Regardless of how much he is thriving off of the money he attains, he’s still only surviving; and afraid of anyone not in his inner circle.

The monotony is broken abruptly. 

Tanaka, Gran Tesoro’s feline-esque head of security, frantically phases through the floor of Gild Tesoro’s private room to see him going about the normal to and fro for the owner of the massive waterborne casino.  
“Sir! There is someone here to see you! Uh - I don’t -“  
Mr. Tanaka stopped and collected himself, lest he collapse from his rapid heartbeat. Tesoro grows a bit concerned, looking away from his paperwork and standing up from his chair to pace towards his associate. 

“Who is it?” He gives Tanaka time to respond but the head of security is still flabbergasted; words evading him. Many possible candidates circulate in his brain, all have their own stress attached to their names and monikers. He wants to prepare himself to put on the fake smile and play up the “how lovely it is to see so-and-so!” shtick.

Before another word could be uttered, Baccarat, the red-haired VIP Concierge, is on the other side of the door to Tesoro’s private quarters; she gives three loud and quick knocks.

“Tesoro! Urgent!” That’s all she needs to say. Tanaka runs to the door and lets her in.

“What the hell is going on?!” The man is losing his patience, there’s work to be done on Gran Tesoro and two of his top associates are losing it.  
“Who’s here?! An Admiral? Revolutionary army?”

“No. Listen, sir, you need to see this to believe it.” Baccarat tries not to sound shaken; Tesoro, now growing increasingly more worried at the demeanors of two of his top associates, becomes impatient and walks quickly to the doors exiting his private space. 

“Sir wait! This is going to be hard to believe at first but-“   
Tesoro isn’t listening anymore and opens the two large gold doors and waits until he can pass through the vestibule. Not even two steps in and he is stopped right in his tracks by who awaits him near the elevators.

* * *

That hole in him, the grave he unconsciously made for his real emotions, came undone. Not entirely, but just enough for Tesoro to actually feel a real emotion for once. His chest heaves as if he were afraid, and he makes a quiet noise to himself, a scared and unsure whimper. He doesn’t want to get his hopes up, but it’s so difficult not to.

she stands out from other women.

She is looking around with wonder in her blue eyes at all of the bright gold furnishings: the walls, columns, tables, etc. she’s never seen this much gold in her lifetime! The blonde-haired woman hears the commotion coming from the two large gold doors down the hall from where she was told to wait; her eyes dart in that direction in sheer curiosity.   
She had searched around for a bit, asking as many people as she could if they knew the name Gild Tesoro. Many knew of course, and some had the means to bring her to Gran Tesoro. So she hopped on a ship with a few sailors looking to go as well, telling them that someone she fell in love with was waiting for her there. 

The pink suited man is absolutely speechless, his mouth hangs open and eyes wide in sheer shock.

_Oh my god. Oh my **god**._

The woman walks a little closer, as if to confirm that she is, in fact, standing in front of the one and only Gild Tesoro. When she did, Tesoro was able to see more clearly who it was, and confirm the hopeful suspicion in the back of his brain. A ringed hand went to cover his mouth when realization hit.

“Stella?”

When she hears Tesoro say her name, all doubts are cast aside. That’s him, her sweetheart, her one and only. A wide and joyful smile graces her lips, tears beginning to form as she runs to him.

He physically picks the woman up off her feet when he embraces her, and they both cry, Tesoro almost uncontrollably sobbing while occasionally repeating her name in shock. She still sees him as the young man who kept her company while she was being auctioned off.  
Tanaka and Baccarat were off to the side, allowing them some space. They smile, so overjoyed to see their boss so happy. Eventually they silently leave, Tanaka using his through-through fruit ability to phase himself and Baccarat through the floor; it’s back to work for them.

* * *

He can feel it, happiness; overwhelming, rigorous joy. So much so that the hot pink suit he wore is almost constricting around his muscular body. But he doesn’t care about that; all he sees is Stella, all that matters right now, is Stella.

Tesoro brings her into his private quarters; it’s furnished with a desk, a coffee table with two chairs, and his bedroom: a decently open room with a large, comfortable looking bed near the center. The walls and lighting are dimmed with hues of deep yellow, to go with Tesoro’s gold motif. The room gives off a safe and comforting feeling.   
He sets her on the left side of the bed and just observes her.

“Lemme just - I gotta look at you. Please.” Tesoro kneels to her eye level with his hands gently cupping her face. He chuckles through tears, as did Stella, while he takes the time to study her features again. It’s been too long, and he never thought he would get this chance again. She still had her soft features, her deep blue eyes, contrasting with his striking light blue ones. That smile, Tesoro thinks to himself, it’s like she hasn’t stopped smiling in over twenty years. There were slight laugh lines present from natural age, as she is now forty-three years old, and Tesoro being two years younger at forty-one.  
Stella gently places her hands on his while he is busy observing her features, and her touch brings him back to the present.

“This is real.” It’s a blank statement; simply spoken into existence. 

“Yes, this is real, Tesoro.”

“How did you escape from the Celestial Dragons?”

She smiles warmly through more tears, “I ran away. During an attack on Mariejois.”

His eyes widen and more tears form. Fisher Tiger’s attack; the same day he escaped.

Stella places a hand on his cheek to comfort him. With that, Tesoro notices scars and what looks to be cut marks on her arms, and deep gashes on the back of her neck that were visible to him. A panic almost immediately sets in; triggering a massive fight or flight response.  
  
“What did they do to you?” The large man’s voice quivers. His blood runs cold at the thought of what took place. 

She exhales shakily at having to relive such events.  
“I’m - not comfortable with sharing that right now.”

Tesoro needs to calm himself down, realizing that he cannot expect her to freely talk about this at the drop of a hat. He has to breathe; be patient.

“No, I understand; I’m sorry. But, I want to know, when you’re ready to talk about it. Okay?”

Stella nods in response.

Tesoro isn’t sure of what to do with himself. His mind is thinking in a thousand directions and he can’t focus on a single thing. What is going on? Life as he knew it was uprooted in one single moment in time, just like that. 

“Would you like to rest? Lay down? You look exhausted.”

“Yeah; I’d like that.”

“I’ll fetch you some evening attire, and we can rest.” The tall man stands up at his full height.

“Oh-“ Stella shakily chimes in. She momentarily looks away from Gild, thinking of how she could word this lightly. 

“Tesoro, don’t take this the wrong way b-“

“-You’d like a separate bed?”

The woman looks embarrassed, but nods.

“Stella, please look at me.” He plead to her. She listens to him and meets his gaze.

“I wholeheartedly understand; I’m not mad, I’m not upset. I know that you’ve gone through a lot, and you’re not ready to talk about it yet. I get that.” He pauses.  
“I understand the situation, and I want to make you as comfortable as possible.”

Tesoro has a spare room that is adjacent to his suite that he allows Stella to stay in. He hands her a sleeping gown and leaves her to rest. He, on the other hand, cannot not sleep at all; from a severe bout of depression that creeps up suddenly. He is so afraid of losing her again that he even checks up on her numerous times, just to find her sleeping soundly in bed. He sits up all night in a tense limbo of thought. A lot of pain and fear rushes back to him to the point where he doesn’t want to look at himself, or his scarred body. Tesoro usually slept without an upper body garment, but seeing Stella’s scars took him aback to a point in time that he wanted completely erased from his memory. That night he wore a black long sleeved shirt; so none of his scars could be seen. The night creeps along, the fleeting happiness he felt had descended back into the grave where he left it. But why? He doesn’t understand, and it frustrates him. Tesoro just reunited with the love of his life, but he is still emotionally dead. He sat up in bed and pondered as the night went on.

When morning comes, he stops by her room to see her again. Tesoro has bags under his eyes and looks unbelievably tired. He did not sleep whatsoever. He doesn’t know if it’s some muddled version of survivors guilt, but he feels it seemingly phase into his body and nestle itself in his stomach; causing him to feel sick. Nonetheless when he sees Stella sat up in bed, he smiles and greets her.

“Good morning. Did you sleep well?”

“I did. I haven’t slept this well in a long while.” She replies with a smile, and that warms Tesoro’s heart; regardless of the cruel irony of it all.  
He moves to her side of the bed. That’s when Stella is able to see his exhaustion. 

“Are you okay?”

When he hears the sincerity in her tone, it almost makes him sick; like someone reached into his gut and squeezed his stomach. Tesoro really doesn’t know why though. She’s just concerned.

“I’m - I-I’m fine. Just didn’t sleep.” It could’ve been from lack of sleep, or from their sudden reuniting, but every time he looks at her, it didn't feel real. He's reminded of how he treats a majority of his workers; akin to slaves. The voice in his head comes back even more furiously:

_Is this still right to you? Even when what you’re doing reminds you of your and Stella’s captivity? You’re killing people!_

He shudders inwardly at the sobering thought and it triggers the onset of another panic attack.  
Tesoro allows his heavy eyelids to blink a few times, still, nothing feels like it’s actually there. He keeps calm for her; he doesn’t want to frighten Stella.   
There is still so much he has to tell her, that he really does not want to divulge. He’s mortified of her reaction; hell, he won’t be surprised if she chooses to part ways afterwards. The thought of that causes him to get a chill, and further heightens his mounting panic.   
“Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that a butler will be in shortly with breakfast. Okay?” Stella nods, he stands up and attempts to smile through his pain. He feels the shakes coming on and the thought of it causes him to head towards the door.  
“I - need to tend to some other things, but I’ll be around.” He turns his head away from her, star earrings jingling softly. He opens the door- 

“Tesoro?” Stella’s voice pierces his eardrums. 

“Yeah?” He attempts to suppress the trembling in his tone.

“Please, get some rest.”   
His throat is tight, palms have gone clammy. He feels as if he could drop dead right there.

“I will.” Tesoro doesn’t bother looking back, he’s barely keeping it together. He walks out of the room and shuts the door behind him; urgently making his way back to his quarters to avoid being seen in such an embarrassing state.

_I can’t look at her._


	2. Sorry Little Bastard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a trigger warning in this one for descriptions of self-harm & suicidal thoughts.

_When can I see?_   
_When can I see?_   
_When my urge to wallow anymore._   
  
_When can I kiss you?_   
_When can I love you?_   
_Time my urge to wallow in you._   
  
_When can I tell you?_   
_That I'm evil, you_   
_For willing my power in you all._

_Sleep Party People - Everything Has an End_

* * *

The panic is unlike anything he has ever felt before; unlike any previous panic attacks, and there were too many to count on two hands that preceded this one. His heart in his throat, esophagus throbbing and beating; tightening and tightening. He swiftly manages to get back into his private quarters and heads right into his washroom. The room holds strong with the gold motif, a deep yellow submerging the room in a seductive and warm hue.   
Tesoro can’t understand, can’t think straight, can barely focus as he stares at himself in the large wall mirror. His hands lay flat against the sink’s countertop, attempting to stifle his shakes and level himself out; but it hardly helps. Tesoro kept looking at himself in the mirror.

_Is conning people out of freedom still right to you?_

His usually slicked back hair is now messy, a few stray locks hang in his line of view, his complexion pale. The little voice in his head emerges with every panic attack he has, and it doesn’t help in the moment.

_Does it help you sleep at night when you tell yourself that what you do is justified?_

Tesoro grasps a bit of air into his lungs, and that led to a larger catch of air. It helped, only a little. He jolts out of reality, then hunches over the countertop with his arms shielding his head. The Casino King is wrought down to a whimpering mess, softly crying into his own arms. He’s disgusted. Mentally, felt hopeless; physically? Nothing. Post panic attacks, he despises himself for not being able to stop it before it starts, he blames himself. This particular bout was significantly more severe; Tesoro was numb, he couldn’t see straight, and felt as if he genuinely was on the brink of death. It was both infuriating, and terrifying.

_Is it still acceptable? Do you still think what you’re doing is okay?_

He removes the black night shirt to reveal his bare upper torso. Somehow he’s both hot and cold at the same time, it made him want to tear his skin off. Nothing feels right.

**_Do you think this is okay?_ **

He continues to quietly weep as he falls to his knees, then hits the floor on his side in a state of disarray. Tesoro just lay there in a curled up heap, hugging himself for comfort. He’s hurting, in every way possible. It’s the closest he’s felt to suffocation without actually suffocating. The voice is so persistent that he has no choice but to take heed and listen to what it has to say.

“I don’t know anymore.” He mumbled to himself through his tears.

Uncertainty is a loss of control; that’s **not acceptable.**

He begins to tear at the flesh from his own back, either from crippling fear, or from unfathomable anger. His nails dig into his skin until he broke flesh and bled.  
He hated himself when he finally came down from the panic. He absolutely fucking despised his own existence. That cold tile floor of his bathroom is too good for him, he deserved worse. Eyes staring through the base of the countertop, nails still puncturing the sides of his back where he brought his arms around into a hug, and head clouded with either thoughts of suicide or self torture. He uncoils his arms and didn’t bother to wipe the blood from them; they hit the floor with unceremonious thuds, tiny splotches of blood coating the floor with the impact.

_That isn’t good enough. Just get up; get up you sorry bastard._

He did eventually get up, clean his self inflicted wounds, and bandage them up as best he could. Once more did he cover his body with a night shirt; He’s sick of looking at himself. 

Tesoro attempts to distract himself with paperwork for a few miserly hours. They pass like molasses. A state of limbo, that’s what it feels like; or purgatory. Stuck, nowhere to go forward, and looking back only has him staring back at the chasm he crawled out of. Tesoro signed these documents, at one point giving up on taking the time and energy to read them. He just signed his name on the dotted lines, set it aside and repeated the process; numbing his brain as much as he could. 

As slow as it was, an hour eventually passed, and he remembered what Stella told him:

_”Please, get some rest.”_

Tesoro was deathly tired, but knew he would keep himself awake regardless if he tried to lay down. Nonetheless in a form of defiance towards himself, he left the desk and crawled into bed. He couldn’t help feel tears come along again when the tiny voice emerged, not as forcefully as before, but with finality, and memories to drive the point home.

_After all you’ve been through, all Stella was put through, you still think this is okay?_

His conscience forced him to remember his mother savagely beating him with an empty beer bottle for singing, while drunkenly cursing. The slave shop he was almost sold to, how he escaped and then met Stella; the best thing that ever happened to him. The fleeting happy memory was quickly washed away with the torment of losing her and being enslaved, mocked, beaten, and viciously abused. And how he was now doing the same thing to thousands of innocent lives.

“No.”

Something finally clicked in his head, that something felt wrong. He, for once, admitted that to himself. The memories replayed in his head continually, and he had to analyze it within himself to grasp the larger picture; the most obvious aspects of his actions that were dehumanizing and unacceptable. Over and over, the memories wrapped around his head, constricting him.

Tesoro, at first, simply wished to rot away in his bed. Tie himself down, let starvation and emaciation force the final breath out of his lungs; Suffer like he has made hundreds and hundreds of people suffer. He thought it fitting for himself as he stooped low enough to be compared to a World Noble.

But no, that’s cowardice. Tesoro knew that he, before anything, had to come clean to Stella; then had to reframe the _entirety_ of Gran Tesoro’s infrastructure; the workers, the way things were run, all of it. This wasn’t going to be an overnight change; even though he desperately wished it could.  
He lay in bed on his side, curled into a fetal position as he continues to cry silently with his hands in his hair. More than ever did he want to bash his fucking skull in, rip his hair out, just do terrible things to himself. If he deserved anything, it was to be beaten for his atrocities.

Tesoro ended up crying himself to sleep, he was completely exhausted; the sleep deprivation finally catching up with him.

* * *

He woke up a few hours later in the late afternoon; the sun shining through the windows of his private room. His eyes still sore from his episode, he rubs them with the palms of his hands.  
The first moments of awakening are without any worry, but as the brain regulates and wakes up further, one is hit with reality. It hit Tesoro pretty hard.

He doesn’t want to tell her immediately, as he wanted time to think this through with a more clear head. But at the same time, this was pretty time-sensitive. He eventually chose to tell her instead of wait.

He allowed himself to wake up, cleaned himself up, fixed his hair, tried to hide the fact that his eyes were sore from crying, and walked over to her room.  
He pops in to see her sitting up in bed, reading one of the books she found in the bookcase.

“Hello, Stella.” He speaks softly, and feigns a genuine smile. The bed rises a bit when he sits upon the mattress, and she marks her page and sets the book aside.

“Hi! I hope you’re feeling better.” Her hand finds his, and he jumps for a minute when he finally registers her touch. Tesoro’s eyes go wide for a moment. Her touch is absolutely heavenly; like a safe blanket. Her voice also has a similar effect; so innocent and carefree.

“I have to talk to you about something. And - this may change how you view me; if so, I understand, and you’re free to leave.”

Tesoro’s eyes are set on her. He _needs_ to say something now; rip off the bandage with one swift motion.

“I’m not a good person.”

The blonde haired woman was stunned, “What are you talking about?”

“I’ve hurt people, innocent people. Crime is rife on Gran Tesoro, and it’s because of _me_.”

There was a painful silence between them; Stella looked both shocked and frightened, while Tesoro wanted to just, stop breathing, right then and there.

“But, I don’t want this anymore, I need it to stop; It's wrong, and I had to tell you. I can’t lie to you, and I’m done lying to those -“ a few stray tears bled down from his eyelids, “- those innocent civilians out there.”

“What have you been doing?” Stella’s tone is very stern, almost authoritative. It shook Tesoro; a chill creeps down his spine, turning every individual ring of vertebrae into ice.  
He was expecting a negative reaction, but her tone is what froze him. He could've retched when she asked him what went on aboard. Anxiety isn’t the word for how he’s feeling, no. Trapped by his own poor decisions. Hopeless; no one to blame but himself.

He shakily explains how he would rack up visitor’s debts to astronomical amounts, conning then out of a seemingly good time at the casino, and then forced them to work the debt off. Enslaving them, essentially.

Stella could’ve slapped him then and there, and she wanted to. But that wouldn’t help anyone. 

“Why?” 

Tesoro didn’t have an answer.

“After the hardships we’ve been through as kids, after what I was forced to endure -“

“-No, Stella-“

“- Are you like them? The Celestial Dragons? Because that’s what it sounds like! Are you going to hurt me then?! Because I’m not rich like you?! Because I don’t meet your standards?!”

“I would _never_ hurt you-“

“ **\- Then why would you hurt others like that?!** Why?!”

Stella raised her voice to him, absolutely appalled by his confession. She couldn’t react in any other way.

His head begins to spin, he has not one clue in the world on how to respond. Anything Tesoro said to her would just be an excuse. So he just sat there, eyes burning from fresh tears rolling down his cheeks. 

“Get out. I can’t - I just can’t stand to look at you right now.”

Her voice strains on that last sentence. It hurt her to have to say that to Tesoro, nearly to the point of grief. Her own trauma starts to creep up after he mentioned his actions moments ago. She needed to be alone, and needed to process and think.

“I understand.” It came out nearly as a whisper from him trying to restrain himself from full blown crying. Tesoro leaves her to retreat back into his own room; before doing anything further, he needed to compose himself and figure out where to even start.  
Stella was upset, rightfully so. It’s a side of her he’s never seen, and he was genuinely scared of the anger emanating from her presence in that moment. Tesoro was in shock.

With Tesoro gone, Stella allowed the exhaustion from the revelation to show on her face; the disappointment. She finally allowed herself to cry.  
She herself was in shock as well, because it felt like the man she knew was dead. It was no longer just anger and disappointment - it was definitely grief. The Gild Tesoro that she loved had disappeared once more.

* * *

Every good thing Gild Tesoro has is taken, swept from his grasp and destroyed. That is the path he made for himself. If he couldn’t be happy, then _fuck_ everyone else. The clouded beliefs such as that which he holds as law are detrimental to how he handles himself. Every so often though, a shred of doubt will peek through the clouds, but he forces it away, telling himself that what he was doing was fine. Those better off than him deserved to suffer like he did. 

But now the clouds were pulled away abruptly, the reality of his actions shoved right into his face, and there was nothing to hide behind.  
His view on humanity is warped, as are his ways of coping and resolution. Tesoro is very good at hiding it, but he copes with his PTSD in a very unhealthy manner; by either trying to flat out ignore it, hurting himself, or by numbing his mind with sex, debauchery, and alcohol. He keeps it together for his image, but behind the curtain, he is not all put together. He knows it’s wrong and wants to change, but it’s a habit, and honestly the only way he knows how to handle himself. 

Stella is now the only good thing he has left in this world and he somehow manages to ruin that too. Her trust in him is now broken, and he felt stranded on the massive floating casino.   
The man’s heart is beating a mile a minute again. There was a hidden rage in Stella’s eyes that he had never seen before. This woman has been wronged and hides it very well. If one doesn’t know her personally, they’d think she had a regular life. She’s just as good at hiding her pain as Tesoro. Coming to terms with how she was hurting, how others were hurting in the same way because of him, that’s what scared him. He couldn’t be like that, he couldn’t handle it; and he absolutely could not believe that he was so blinded by greed and anger to get to this point.

_See how she reacted to you? In her eyes, you are now a monster. The “Monster of the New World”, right? That title that you relished in for years. Now how does it feel?_

“I don’t want it.” Tesoro cultivates a mental response to himself. This kind of inner conversation between himself and his conscience continues on.

_You don’t want it? That’s too bad, you’ve worked so hard to get it! It’s stuck with you. Unless, you earn the right to relinquish it. Did the innocent casino-goers you swindled have the opportunity to say they didn’t want to be forced into servitude?_

“.... No.”

_So then what makes you think you should be let off so easily?_

“I shouldn’t. I should be dead.”

_Maybe so, but that defeats the purpose of attempting to better oneself. If you die now, you die a monster, and that’s how you will be remembered until the end of time. At this point, I don’t think you want that anymore._

“No, I don’t want that. Not at all.”

_Well hiding away until the problem magically resolves itself doesn’t apply here and you know that. You are the root of the issue, and you are the only one who can stop it. Since you were just so keen on shutting me out of your mind for years, allowing this to go on, you have some serious work to do. Best get started._


End file.
